were singin' 'Johnny Harvard' and that Casey was a great man. He climbed
on a table and insisted on makin' a speech about it. You know how that
home brew stuff works sometimes?"

"I've been told that it has a certain potency," says Mr. Robert, winkin'
at Nicky.

"Anyway," I goes on, seein' that Nicky was still interested, "it seems
to tie his tongue loose. He gets eloquent about the poor old Elis who
had to stand around and watch the snake dance without lettin' out a yip.
Then he has a bright idea, which he proceeds to state. Maybe they don't
know anything about the glorious product of the settin' hen down in New
Haven. And who needs it more at such a time as this? Ought to have some
of 'em up there and lighten their load of gloom. Act of charity. Gotta
be done. If nobody else'll do it, he will. Go out into highways and
byways.

"And he does. Half an hour later he shows up at the home brew
headquarters with an Eli that he's captured on the way to the South
station. He's a solemn-faced, dignified party who don't seem to catch
what it's all about and rather balks when he sees the bunch. But he's
dragged in and introduced as Chester Beal, the Hittite."

"I beg pardon?" asks Nicky.

"I'm only giving you what I heard," says I. "Chester Beal might have
been his right name, or it might not, and the Hittite part was some of
his josh, I take it. Anyway, Chester was dealt a generous shot from the
jug, followin' which he was one of 'em. Him and the Harvard guy got real
chummy, and the oftener they sampled the home brew the more they thought
of each other. They discovered they'd both served in the same division
on the other side and had spent last Thanksgiving only a few miles from
each other. It was real touchin'. When last seen they was driftin' up
Tremont Street arm in arm singin' 'Madelon,' 'Boola-Boola,'
'Harvardiana' and other appropriate melodies."

"Just like the good old days, eh, Nicky?" suggests Mr. Robert.

But Nicky only shakes his head. "You say they were not seen again?" he
demands.

"Not until about 1:30 a. m.," says I, "when they shows up in front of
the Harvard Club on Commonwealth Avenue. One of the original bunch spots
the pair and listens in. The Harvard man is as eloquent as ever. He's
still going strong. But Chester, the Hittite, looks bored and weary.
'Oh, shut up!' says he. But the other one can't be choked off that way.
He just starts in again. So Chester leads him out to the curb and hails
a tax